The Book of M
by krissyashleigh
Summary: Harry Potter comes across a book that changes his whole life - 'The Book Of M.'
1. Prologue

The Book of M

By Leda Medea

Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No funding is received for the publication of this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: I'm probably going to write this story at my own leisure, so don't get mad at me for infrequent updates…it's no fun if you're made to do the story yano. But I do hope you enjoy the story and stick with me! Constructive criticism is appreciated, as are loving reviews. :) No flamers please; I'm not a professional writer, and this story is just the product of my bored mind and too many snow days. Well, enjoy! :)

* * *

It was June 22, 1996; one of the hottest days of the year, in Harry Potter's opinion. Not that his opinion mattered much around this neighborhood, anyways. Here in Surrey, Harry was considered a hooligan, a nuisance, and a common criminal, due to his family's lie that Harry attended St. Brutus's School for Incurably Criminal Boys. He was also portrayed to be a pickpocket, and a bully to small children. That was fine with Harry; all the more reason for people to stay away from him. All he did when they got too close was kill them, anyways…

Harry sighed, and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Weeding Aunt Petunia's garden was one of his most hated chores; some of them Harry thought he was allergic to, and by the time he got done with the garden, he would find himself wheezing and coughing all the way back to his room. He was lucky there were only a few weeds there today, otherwise he might pass out from the weeds and heat combined.

After he weeded the garden, Harry was expected to wash Vernon's new company car (they had given it to him as a benefit for selling the most drills), take the trash bins to the community dumpster, and chop the tomatoes for tonight's dinner (Petunia hated getting the tomato juice on her hands, said it messed with her expensive hand cream).

To Harry's intense surprise, he found that the didn't mind the chores as much as he had in years past. In fact, he found them relaxing, and as a way to get away from his thoughts of Sirius.

Sirius Black had been Harry's godfather since the boy's birth, but Harry hadn't known until his third year at Hogwarts. Before that time, he hadn't even known the man's name, let alone that the man was his godfather. They had met in the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade, at a time where Harry believed Sirius to be a murderer hunting for Harry's blood. As it happened, not only did Sirius not want to kill him; he wanted to avenge the death of Harry's parents, James and Lily, and take Harry to live with him as soon as he had his freedom. Sadly, this had not been meant to be; Sirius's means of redemption, Peter Pettigrew's confession, vanished when the little rat got away from his captors. During the next few years, Harry had only briefly seen and talked to his godfather, but it had been enough to make Harry ache for more.

Now, though, Harry knew he would never be able to live with Sirius as he should, as he wanted to. Sirius was dead, and Harry, however indirectly, had caused it. He had killed his godfather, because of his own foolishness. If only he had not believed his vision! If only he had waited, had done something differently…

Harry regretted his unwise decisions that night full heartedly, and wanted to be able to bring Sirius back from beyond the veil more than anything. He knew Sirius couldn't resurface from the veil - that much had been obvious. But he vowed to never endanger anyone like he had Sirius again.

Now, all Harry had to remember his godfather with was a broken mirror and the explosive pain that gripped his heart as he remembered the broken man's face. It was enough to make him cry out, and suddenly he found himself kneeling in the kitchen, on his hands and knees. He shook his head and resolutely stood up, continuing to dice the tomatoes.

"Potter."

Harry whipped around to face his Aunt, putting down his knife cautiously. Usually, his aunt reserved that tone of voice when she was trying to be pleasant (and failing exceedingly) to him. He nodded.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

She ran a hand through her perfectly kept hair. "If you are up to it, you may sit in on dinner tonight. I have a little more food than I need for the three of us, and the boys don't prefer leftovers…"

Harry frowned. Was Petunia actually asking him to have a meal with them? Usually during the summer holidays, he was ignored totally, and resorted to just taking a portion of food for himself to his room on the second floor.

"I…sure, Aunt Petunia…"

She clasped her hands together, as if trying to hold herself back from canceling her offer. "Good, then. Wash up, now, I don't want your dirty hands all over my fine china."

Harry agreed, put the knife in the sink, and walked up the stairs to wash his hands. How strange…maybe Dumbledore had said something to his Aunt? Harry didn't think so, for some reason. So why was Petunia being so civil? Surely after what had happened to her 'Diddy Dinkydums' last year, she wouldn't exactly be jumping at the chance to make Harry happy… He shook his hands out and dried them on the towel. Whatever was in store for him at dinner, Harry made a promise to himself not to blow his temper. These days, Harry understood exactly the importance of the wards on the Dursley home; knowing what he did now of the prophecy, he didn't want to put anyone in danger, and the Dursley home was the safest place for him to be. He almost didn't want to leave the Dursley's anymore, for fear of what would happen once he did. He sighed, and walked back down to the dinner table, where Dudley, Vernon, and Aunt Petunia were seated. He did a double take as he saw that they were all waiting for him to sit down before they started eating. Harry nodded to them and sat in the fourth chair at the dining table, right across from Dudley.

Aunt Petunia, chatty as usual, started off the dinner conversation.

"Vernon, dear, tell us about your day at the office."

Harry's uncle swelled with pride at the reminder of his job at Grunning's. With a simering smile on his face, he answered, "Ah yes, Grunning's is doing quite well, what with all the drills we've been selling lately. The summer's our busiest season, you know; what with everyone buying decks and such for their summer holidays, drills are selling something fierce."

Dudley, as usual, didn't pay any attention to his parents chatter; it seemed that he had gotten over his scare last summer for the most part, as he was now cutting visciously into his Salisbury steak. So much for the school's diet, Harry thought, cutting back a smile.

"That's wonderful, dear! I'm sure Grunning's couldn't do anything without you."

"Yes, well, not everyone has the talent required to sell the most drills of the season. It's very hard work, you see, what with the connections required to make a dent in the public…"

Harry tuned out the rest of the conversation in favor of eating his meal. Surely he would not be involved in the conversation; whatever had inspired Petunia to include him in the meal was not so giving when it came to conversation. Harry was grateful; he didn't know a thing about Vernon's company. And he sure as hell didn't want to flatter the man about selling drills, for goodness's sake…

The rest of the meal passed by quickly, with Harry not saying anything during the course of conversation. Once the meal was done, and he was about to excuse himself, Aunt Petunia told him he was welcome to tomorrow's meal, too, if he was so inclined. He shot her a surprised look, but agreed. Who would reject an offer of food at the Dursley household?

Once he was safely back in his room, thoughts of what happened at the Ministry plagued him once again. He couldn't help but want to be ready for the next time something like this happened; for it was sure to happen, as it had during almost every year of his Hogwarts schooling. Harry wanted to start learning how to be more efficient in battle, so he could be more assured of himself when facing Voldemort. Surely his luck couldn't hold out forever…

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning to a bright flash. He quickly sat up in bed, putting on his glasses and trying to take in his surroundings; the window was closed, as was his trunk and dresser; his clothes were strewn around the room as usual; Hedwig was in her cage, looking towards a corner of the room…

Harry's eyes widened further when he spotted the large, golden phoenix on top of his desk. It trilled a note, seeming to say 'You're safe, it's alright.' He approached it cautiously, nonetheless, and saw that it held a not-so-small package in its beak. He reached for it slowly, and the beard gave it to him, trilling again. This time, Harry got the feeling that the bird was laughing at him.

Turning back to the package, Harry noticed that it was wrapped in an almost translucent type of glossy paper, with a blue ribbon holding it together. He undid the ribbon, and the paper fell away to reveal a book.

'Magic by M.'

That was all the cover said. Harry turned the book over, and inspected all of its hard cover; nothing else was written on the dark blue leather cover, except for a tiny phoenix insignia at the bottom right corner of the back cover. Looking curiously at the bird, Harry opened the book to its first page.

'An Introduction to Magic by M.

This book makes itself known only to those who are in desperate need of what it holds inside its pages. Let its wisdom become yours, let its pages guide you through. It will be enough; have hope, and good luck to you. This book is now yours for as long as you require.

- M.'

What the…? Harry flipped through the book, and saw nothing but the first chapter. He frowned, and then, strangely enough, a side note appeared. 'You may only see one chapter at a time, for you must master them all. –M.'

Harry shrugged, but put the book down to attend to the phoenix. He smiled at it, scratched its head, and said softly, "Hm, I don't assume you have a name, do you?"

The phoenix voiced its thoughts again, conveying the fact that Harry would figure it out in time. He laughed. "Alright. What should I call you in the meantime? Phoenix?"

The bird nodded its head, and Harry said, "Phoenix it is, then."

Harry re-opened his book, and started in on the first chapter, 'Chapter One – Understanding Magic.'

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A/N : Woohoo! How'd you like the prologue? I'm hoping you did. If you have any suggestions, they're welcome, and if you really want to see something in the story, tell me ASAP. I've got the plot all worked out, but I could probably add something in. Just remember, I don't do slash, sorry. :) Review please! :D

Love Leda Medea.


	2. Chapter One

The Book of M

By Leda Medea

Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No funding is received for the publication of this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the Prologue!

Evergreen Sceptre, a special note to you – I've noticed that you've stuck with me through my years on this site, and I'm especially grateful for it. It made my day to see your review. Thank you so much! :D And…I'd tell you the answers to your questions, but then you wouldn't need to read on, now would you? Lol. :D Thanks again!

And to Lientjuhh and Rori Potter, thank you so much for reading and reviewing the prologue. I hope you stick with me! :D

* * *

"Chapter One – Understanding Magic," Harry read aloud. Understanding magic? His brow furrowed. It wasn't too complex, really. So why was this a whole chapter?

'Magic is decidedly different for each and every living creature, due to the nature of that creature's magical core. Yes, every living creature does in fact have a magical core, even muggles. Even a tiny red ant has a magical core. This is what makes us have souls. However, there are fundamental differences in a muggle's core as compared to that of a witch or wizard. In a simple explanation, a muggle's 'wiring' in their magical core is improperly hooked up to perform magic, while the witch or wizard is fully equipped to perform the art due to the functionality of their core. As witches, wizards, and muggles procreate, their children receive a special combination of their parents' 'wiring' to create their own magical core. This is why fully wizarding families produce squib children, and why fully muggle families produce wizards. Also, over time, a person's magical core will grow and change in tune with that person's personality, per se. Thus, a man in his prime is able to become magically stronger than he was at, say, age ten. Though the core may change and grow, it is impossible for a wizard to lose their magic, as it is just as impossible for a muggle to gain it.'

'The first wizard was a man named Abhinav Nehru, an Indian man. His parents were ordinary muggles, but, when combined into their son, their cores made his into one the world had never seen before. All magic, in theory, branches from this man, Abhinav. Therefore, there is no such thing as a 'pureblooded' witch or wizard, as every witch or wizard is related (however distantly) to Abhinav's muggle family. Now, Abhinav knew there was something different about him, as the other men and women in his band of wandering nomadic people couldn't do the things he could. Abhinav is said to have once summoned an animal to him so that he could eat it in the presence of his family. Though his parents did not show this, Abhinav could tell his mother and father were frightened of him. And he was frightened of himself; witchcraft had not even been conceived by anyone at this point in time, but here he was, able to do things no one else could do. He was scared, and alone in his ability. Thinking maybe it would die with him, Abhinav later went on to have a family with his wife, Sujata. To his horror, Abhinav discovered that his children, too, possessed this gift; Abhinav then tells Sujata in desperation for his children and his own sanity. Though she is frightened, Sujata is nothing if not a loving mother, and steals away from her fellow wanderers with her children and husband in the dead of night. Through the years, the children procreated, and their children procreated, and the family grew and grew until magic became the colossal empire it is today.'

Harry read through the first chapter, surprised; he had automatically assumed (as had most of the wizards he knew of) that magic had been around since the dawn of time. According to 'M', though, that was not true. Harry wondered briefly how long ago it was that Abhinav had lived. It didn't seem as though he had been around too recently, but he wasn't exactly a caveman either. Harry was confused, and decided to set the book down for a while in order to get his thoughts wrapped around what the text had said.

Harry tried to picture himself in Abhinav's shoes; what if he had been the first wizard, the only one who could do magic – in the world? Harry knew he would have been incredibly confused and maybe even a little terrified. Abhinav must have been brave to keep living with people as he did, and to even have a wife and kids. Harry sympathized with the man, knowing what it was like to be looked at as 'different' and 'strange', having grown up with the Dursley family. They hadn't appreciated his accidental magic, just as Harry could imagine Abhinav's fellows doing the same. It made Harry admire the man's bravery that much more. And with that thought, the second chapter appeared in Harry's book, unnoticed by the teenage boy. Harry, in the meantime, sat down at his beaten desk and started to pen a letter to his best friends, Ron and Hermione.

Ron,

How've you been, mate? Nothing's been too terrible over here, the Dursleys are actually being bearable for once. It's odd, really, but I'm not exactly complaining. Listen, mate, I'm really sorry about what happened at the Ministry. I know you only went because you wanted to back me up, and that means a lot to me. I'm glad I've got friends like you that'll be there for me when I need it the most. I hope you're fully recovered, mate. I feel awful about what happened. I don't suppose you want to hear much more of that, though, so I'll try to knock it off. Hopefully I'll see you soon.

Harry.

Next, Harry started on Hermione's letter.

Hermione,

How is your summer going so far? Mine's been alright, actually. The Dursleys are actually being nice to me this summer. Alright, not exactly nice, but they're not being terrible like usual either. I know I won't have to ask you how you've been doing on your summer assignments; you've probably got them all done, knowing you like I do. Anyway, Hermione, I'm writing this letter mainly because I wanted to thank you for coming with me to the Ministry, even when you didn't believe me. I wish I had believed you when you said it was most likely a fake vision, but I really was convinced Sirius was in trouble. I suppose you'll tell me it's not my fault, Hermione, so I won't tell you what I think about it. I'm just thankful you'll stick by me even when I make mistakes. Truth is, I'm going to need you and Ron to get me through. I love you guys.

-Harry.

Just as he had finished Hermione's letter, his Aunt called up the stairs, signaling lunchtime. Harry, confused as to why Petunia would feel the need to tell him, went downstairs anyway, upon which he was handed a (hearty) plate of food. He looked in surprise at his Aunt; she had made him lunch? Harry thanked her softly and sat down in the living room, eyeing her as she eyed him. He wondered, not for the first time that summer, what was making his Aunt so…so nice to him. Petunia sighed suddenly, and he gave her his full attention.

"I suppose you're wondering what brought all this on, Harry."

Harry was even further shocked. His Aunt had never, not in his whole life, ever called him Harry. What had brought this on, indeed!

"Well, yes, Aunt Petunia."

She nodded. "Do you remember that…loud mail…I received last summer, from your Dumbindorn?"

"Dumbledore, yeah. What of it?"

"Your headmaster sent me a letter, once before, when you were in primary school. I'm sure you remember that day you ended up on the roof of the school building, when your Uncle almost threw you out?"

Harry remembered, very well. "Yeah, and then…you said no."

"That's right. I had gotten a letter from Dumble…Dumbledore right after the phone call the school left us, telling us what you had done. Dumbledore told us that you were depending on us to raise you right, that we were all you had left of your family and that we were expected to treat you as we would our own son. Dumbledore told us that one day, you would be the key to saving the world as we knew it, and when that time came, he would send us another letter."

Harry's eyes widened slightly with realization. "And…that was the letter he sent to you last summer."

She nodded. "Yes. He said that the time was coming for what he had told us, and that we were to protect you until you could do so for yourself. Harry…I know we haven't been the kindest to you here, but…well, we were afraid of you. If you, a tiny little boy, held the burden of the entire world on your shoulders, we would have to make you tough enough to handle it. So we raised you with a…a firm hand, so to speak. And Harry, I want you to know that at some moments…I truly hated you for making me break my own heart. I'm so sorry, for everything we've done. I know you probably will never forgive any of us, but we needed to know you'd be prepared. We needed you to have that built in. Do you understand?"

Harry was surprised…and more than a little hurt. "All these years…you haven't- you haven't really hated me?"

Petunia wiped away a tear and shook her head sadly. "No, Harry. We never hated you. Well…maybe Dudley, but we had to raise him to believe the lie, too. I'm so sorry…"

Harry nodded. It wasn't that he accepted it, or agreed with it; Harry simply couldn't get over the shock of his Aunt's revelation. How was that even possible? Surely this was a cruel joke; the Dursleys had always hated him, had starved him, belittled him, sometimes even hit him. And now, Aunt Petunia was saying it had al been out of duty? Out of maybe even love?

"But- but you all…you can'tve…you're lying, you all hate me, you've hated me since-"

"No, Harry! I'm not cruel enough to give you such false hope. I am truly sorry for what we've done, but it was necessary. I've wanted to tell you this every day for the past fifteen years now, please, believe that if nothing else."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he simply put his dishes away and went back to his room.

So much for another normal summer…

* * *

A/N : Hm, like it, hate it, want some more of it? Tell me all about it, lol. :D I looove reviews, they're my favorite. Thank you all so much for reading this story, I hope you continue to enjoy it! (Oh, and if I get more reviews it tends to make me want to update faster. Reviews mean a lot to us fanfiction writers; it's the only payment we receive!) Thanks guys. :)

Love Leda Medea.


	3. Chapter Two

The Book of M

By Leda Medea

Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No funding is received for the publication of this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: All I'm saying for now on Petunia's admission is that everything is not as it seems…and Harry knows it. Read on!

Oh and on the Book : If you think the book starts out too slowly as the story goes on, it's because Harry doesn't have that base knowledge that he needs to continue through the rest of the knowledge the book offers. He needs to build up on the basics before he can get on to the amazing stuff, right? This book is perfect for Harry, because it was made to give the reader all the information they will need in their futures. So the book has information on all the magic M knew about (plus it's self-updating so it has the knowledge of everyone who read the Book before Harry), but Harry won't need all that stuff. The book gives Harry everything he's going to need on his journey. :)

* * *

Harry lay on his bed late that night, thinking of everything his Aunt had said. He had come to the conclusion that he should not believe his Aunt fully. Maybe he was being paranoid, but it was extremely difficult for him to just blindly trust anyone, especially after what had happened in the past with the Dursleys. They were devious people, and never did anything remotely kind unless it was for their own gain. It was extremely frustrating to not be able to know what Petunia was thinking; he wished he had paid more attention to how Snape was able to penetrate his mind last year, so that he could try to do it to Petunia and possibly discover her motives. Harry knew better than to owl the snarky man for advice, though, so he would just have to keep an eye on his Aunt to figure out what she was up to.

Suddenly, Harry remembered his book, and he got up to check if there was anything additional in its pages; sure enough, he found Chapter Two – Wandless Abilities staring up at him from the book's worn pages. Harry began to read, thinking, "Finally, something to do with magic!"

'Chapter Two – Wandless Abilities

Before there were centralized magical communities and wizarding businesses, a wand was a virtually nonexistent tool; in fact, if an olden day wizard was presented with a wand, he would most likely throw it out, preferring to use his magic wandlessly. In truth, wands were invented long ago in an effort to stem the flow of a wizard's magic, and were mostly used by those who had unstable cores, such as those going through magical puberty. Before long, however, not many wizards could control their magic without a wand, weakened as their skills were, and wandless magic soon became a lost art. Most wizards of the modern age consider wandless magic to be too difficult to trifle with, which is quite ironic considering the circumstances from which wands originated.

To prove to the reader how impractical these tools are, let me provide an example. Say that you are dueling with an enemy, and you suddenly find yourself disarmed by your opponent. Without control of your wandless abilities, you are basically already in the dragon's stomach, so to speak. However, if you can manage this craft, you may take your opponent by surprise and find yourself with a hefty advantage.'

_Here, Harry found a side note in the margin of the book; it said 'You should also note that the Ministry of Magic cannot track wandless magic, Harry, unless it is morphed to match the signature that the underage witch or wizard's wand holds; this will be explained to you in further detail later on in your reading.'_

_Harry's eyes widened at that; suddenly, his motivation to learn from this book increased tenfold. Although he was still unsure as to the book's origins, he knew he could trust the information it held, as it did not seem to be harmful in any way. Laughing, he also realized that the Dobby fiasco during the summer before his second year had been meant to get him into trouble with the Ministry, most likely to get him expelled. He continued reading. _

'Wandless magic is difficult to explain in the pages of a book, so I shall word this as best as I am able. To control this ability, you must first find your magical core. This is the center of your abilities, from which all magic you perform stems from. It will resemble a colored sphere when you find it; size, color, and density are all factors of your personal touch to magic, which is your personal magical signature (personal magical signatures cannot be tracked except by the best of wizards, and as such it has become another lost art). To find this core, you must enter a deep trance, similar to the art of muggle meditation; you must let all worries, all errant thoughts, all senses, and all awareness of the present time leave you, and instead focus inwardly upon your personal essence. This is difficult to explain, and might take you much time to understand without someone there to personally explain it to you. It could take you hours, days, maybe months; do not rush the process, though, as it is a very spiritual experience to find your magical core for the first time. After you continue to practice at finding your core, it will become second nature to you to reach from within it to perform all your magic, and you will not be so inclined as you are now to reach for your wand; it might even prove to be useless once you master wandless magic.

Personally, I recommend letting one thought, sense, or worry go one at a time, until you are left with just yourself. Then, you are ready to focus yourself inward to find your core. Don't let yourself become frustrated with this process, as it is difficult to manage, especially with no one around to aide you. Now, I want you, the reader, to put this book down at this point, and try to do what I have told you. You will not be able to read further until you have managed.'

True to the book's word, Harry flipped the page and was unsurprised this time to see nothing further was written. He then decided he would practice this until he was tired enough to sleep; it would be hard to let go of everything that had happened today, let alone the other major things he was concentrating on. Although it was hard, Harry was slowly managing to let go of his conscious thoughts; as soon as he was satisfied with the progress he had made, he let himself settle into a night of surprisingly nightmare-free sleep.

Harry awoke to a funny tickling sensation on his nose; opening his eyes blearily, he saw that it had been Phoenix that had woken him. It seemed to him that the beautiful bird had slept curled up on the untouched side of Harry's pillow, wings tucked under its body and its face turned away from Harry's. Smiling, the teenager moved an errant feather away from his nose and softly stroked the bird's plumage; all and all, even though it appeared to be early, he was not angry with the bird. In fact, he was almost glad – now he had more opportunity to study M's book. First things first, though; as it was rare that Harry awoke without the commotion of his relatives being the first sounds of his day, he realized they were gone off to church, and that he had the morning to himself, at least for a couple hours. Gently removing himself from the small bed, so as not to wake his newfound companion, Harry searched his room for some clean clothes to wear and a towel, and then made his way to take a shower. He laughed to himself as he shut the door on his bedroom; he really didn't smell too fresh at the moment, and he wondered how the bird had managed to sleep so close to him. Harry smiled again at his silly thoughts and vowed to scrub himself cleaner than he really cared to do most days.

After his very refreshing shower, Harry made his way down to the Dursley kitchen. There, he found a note from his aunt, informing him that the large plate of bacon, eggs, and sausage in the fridge was his to reheat and eat that morning. He shook his head at the end bit – Love, Aunt Petunia? There was definitely something up with his aunt, but Harry ate the breakfast anyways. He was too hungry to pass up such welcoming food, after all, as he was a teenage boy and needed food almost hourly. Yes, there was definitely something going on in the Dursley house, and Harry knew he had to get to the bottom of it before the summer was over, otherwise it would gnaw at him until he came back the following summer. Briefly, Harry wondered what his relatives thought of him when he came back from Hogwarts; after all, something always seemed to happen right before the summer holidays which caused him to come back to the Dursleys and mope around most of the summer. He decided he didn't really care what his relatives thought, since they didn't care enough to ask him what was wrong. He would just have to get himself together on his own, like he always did, and make everything bearable once more.

Breaking out of his depressing thoughts and finishing the rest of his amazing breakfast, Harry cleaned up his dirty dishes and then made his way back up to his room, where he made use of the many locks on his door. He didn't want the Dursleys to come in and see him using magic, if he managed it today; no matter how nice Petunia had been, he was sure to be thrown out if she caught a glimpse of that. With that thought, Harry settled down on his bed and prepared for a day of clearing his mind. He was slowly making more progress towards his goal of total solemnity, but every once and a while Harry would find himself getting off track once again and would have to forcefully put himself back on his course. It was harder than he had expected (and he hadn't exactly expected it to be easy as pie), but Harry knew he must accomplish this, so that he could finally have some advantage over Voldemort. He soldiered on into the evening, hearing the Dursleys come back from their Sunday activities and bustle around the house, however distantly. Soon, Harry had to stop clearing his mind and go down for dinner; how he had skipped lunch, he didn't know, but he supposed it had to do with his large breakfast, since he wasn't used to eating so well at the Dursley household. Sighing, Harry heard his Aunt call him one last time, and he made his way down the stairwell to come sit at the dinner table with his relatives.

Dinner was a quiet affair, mostly; Vernon and Petunia had small talk like they had done the previous night, and Harry was content to stay silent during their exchange. Instead of concentrating on his relatives, Harry instead focused on his meal of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding (it was his favorite meal here at the Dursleys, of any that he had been allowed to eat anyways). Harry suddenly noticed everyone at the table staring at him, as if waiting for a response.

"Sorry?" He said, confused.

"Harry, dear," Aunt Petunia smiled widely, "you are certainly absorbed in your meal! We had just asked you if you were enjoying it, but now it's obvious you like it. I knew it was your favorite, that's why I made it special for tonight!"

Harry's Aunt continued to smile widely, like a cat that had caught the canary. Eyeing her warily, Harry responded, "Yeah, it's great, thanks…"

Petunia's smile grew even wider, something Harry thought would have been impossible. Glancing at Vernon, he saw the same smile on his face. Dudley looked just as confused as he was.

"You made it for Potter, mum? Why would you do that for the freak?!"

"Dudley!" Petunia glanced wide-eyed at her son, "Don't talk of Harry that way! He is a fine young man, not a freak, and of course I made the meal for him! Why wouldn't I?"

Harry felt like he was in the Twilight Zone; he was convinced now that something was going on here, as his Aunt was never this nice to even the new neighbors she wanted to impress. What did she want?

"Yeah, well…thank you, Aunt Petunia."

"Oh, Harry, no need to thank me! It's the least I could do for my favorite little nephew."

Her smile was now stretched to the breaking point, and Harry was suddenly entertained with the thought of her ending up stuck that way. He hid his smirk though, and continued eating his meal. Dudley was flabbergasted, he could tell; clearly he had no idea what was going on, either.

After the meal, Harry, as he always did while he was home, went to go and wash the dishes. Suddenly he stopped, hearing a shriek. He turned to face his Aunt.

"Oh, Harry, you precious boy! Oh, you make us so proud, dearie. You don't have to do the dishes, Harry Shnuckums! We love you! Of course I'll do the dishes myself, you just go on and have some fun!"

Harry blinked. Then again. "Okay…thanks, Aunt Petunia."

Her jaw-breaking smile returned. "Nothing to thank me for, Harry-Poo! Now go on and do whatever it is you wizard teenager boys do!"

Harry gaped, but hurried off. Had she just said wizard?! Aunt Petunia?! Yes, something was off, and Harry was going to find out just what it was.

* * *

A/N : Review please? They make writing a story so much fun. :)

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! I love you guys!

(Isn't Petunia ridiculous? Haha she's fun to write.)

Love Leda Medea.


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